


Baby Blue Transistor

by TurnipTitaness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awake the Snake (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnipTitaness/pseuds/TurnipTitaness
Summary: One bright August morning, Crowley wakes up. This wouldn't be unusual, except that his alarm was set for October.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	Baby Blue Transistor

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's my turn to contribute to the "Awake the Snake" pool. I have been trying to write a nice long angsty fic for the longest time, but my heart keeps going "No. Fluff. All the fluff." So I stopped fighting it and wrote this. I reckon there's enough angst in the world already, and my heart doesn't want me to contribute more right now. Never fear, the angst will get written. Just not today.

_“I see trees of green, red roses too…”_

Crowley dragged one eye open, then shut it quickly. Sunlight was pouring in through the open window.

_“I see them bloom for me and you…”_

The open window? Why was his bedroom window open? Crowley was fairly certain he hadn’t opened it, for the simple reason that he never opened his window.

_“And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…”_

Crowley forced both eyes open, then blinked a few times until he could focus enough to glare around the room. “What day is it?” he muttered.

“August the nineteenth,” a soft, precise voice answered him. “Two-thousand and twenty.”

_“The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by…”_

Crowley coughed. “Thought I set the alarm for October.”

“Well, but your alarm didn’t wake you,” the voice answered him. “I did.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shot up, clutching his sheets around his neck, staring slack-jawed at the angel who was sitting primly on the side of the bed.

A glowing smile spread across Aziraphale’s face. “Good morning, my dear.”

_“...They’re really saying ‘I love you.’”_

Crowley’s mouth opened and shut several times, and a series of unspellable sounds poured from it. Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled, and he folded his lips between his teeth.

_“Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.”_

“Is that… Louis Armstrong?” Crowley managed finally, as the last notes faded. 

“It seemed appropriate,” the angel murmured.

Crowley transferred his stare from Aziraphale’s face to the small transistor radio that rested against the angel’s thigh. “Gosh, what a relic.”

Aziraphale blinked down at the little rectangular object, neatly cased in baby blue plastic, with a cream-colored leather wrist strap hanging from one corner. “This?” He sounded surprised. “I bought it in the sixties. Bit of an impulse purchase, really. I never even used it. Too fiddly for me, all this modern technology.”

Crowley relaxed back against his pillows and grinned. “You astonish me, angel.”

But a sudden thought wiped the smile off his face. Was he wearing any clothes? After sleeping for three months, certain little details tended to slip Crowley’s mind. Little details like whether or not he was naked in bed with a gorgeous angel staring innocently at him not three feet away.

Crowley’s skin turned as bright as his hair, and with what he hoped was a quiet, subtle click of his fingers, made sure that he most certainly was wearing clothes. If Aziraphale noticed the sudden appearance of a black turtleneck, incongruous in the summer heat, he didn’t mention it.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” the demon snapped, embarrassment making his voice harsher than he intended. 

Aziraphale eyes skittered, and he folded his hands nervously across his lap. Crowley could have kicked himself all the way to Alpha Centauri. 

“Not that I mind,” he stammered hastily. “Always a pleasure having you come here… I mean, I mean, not that you’re here often, only been here once before, haven’t you, and the circumstances weren’t great, were they, but… Ngk.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “Just… just meant… ‘S nice to see you.”

The hurt look left Aziraphale’s face, and he gave a happy little wiggle. “Oh, I’m so glad,” he chirped. “For a moment I thought I might have done the wrong thing.”

Crowley grinned again. He couldn’t help himself, not when his angel looked like that, all sparkly round the edges. “Nahhh,” he scoffed. “You’re an angel, remember? Out of curiosity though, what did bring you here?”

“Well, this did, in a way.” Aziraphale patted the little radio.

Crowley shook his head. “I’m not following you.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “As you know, I’ve been doing quite a lot of baking lately, but I must admit that I was getting a bit…” He hesitated. “A bit bored with it, really. And to be frank, I was simply running out of space to put all those cakes, not to mention the sourdough.” The angel shook his head, his eyes widening. 

“M-m-m,” Crowley nodded, frowning. “And of course young safe-crackers don’t come round every night to help you eat them all, do they?”

Aziraphale shot him an exasperated glance. “Laugh all you like, but it was actually getting rather difficult to maneuver,” he protested. “So I decided it was high time to do some cleaning and organizing of the bookshop.”

He ignored Crowley’s dramatic gasp and went on, looking around the room. “How do you manage to keep your home so tidy, by the way? It is most impressive.”

Memories of countless stress-fueled cleaning sessions flashed before Crowley’s eyes. “Minimalism,” he said simply. “But go on, finish your story. We can have a lifestyle coaching session later. I still want to know how an old plastic radio brought you all the way over here.”

“Right, yes. I was just looking around the shop, you know, and wondering where to begin, when I saw this,” he patted the radio again, “tucked away in a corner, behind some old volumes of Chesterton. I’d forgotten that I owned such an object, to be honest with you. My gramophone suits me quite nicely whenever I want a spot of music. At first I couldn’t even remember what had prompted me to buy it.” 

Aziraphale’s voice trailed off, and he sat staring at his fingers, which were interlaced across his lap.

The silence stretched out and drooped, like a string of chewed gum. Crowley sat as patiently as he could, but eventually he fidgeted and cleared his throat.

“Not that this isn’t fascinating, angel,” he said. “But I still don’t get the connecting bits between you buying a cheap transistor in the nineteen-sixties and turning up in my bedroom in twenty-twenty.”

“Yes, yes, I was just coming to that,” Aziraphale said snippily. “It was because of how I felt on the day I bought it, you see.”

“I don’t,” Crowley muttered, but Aziraphale continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“I wanted… well, a change, I suppose. To… to get up to the modern pace of living. It seems silly,” he said, possibly in response to Crowley’s incredulous yelp. “But I was feeling restless. Dissatisfied with my life as it was.”

He paused, and Crowley wondered briefly if he ought to prompt the angel again. But after a moment, Aziraphale glanced sideways at him, and quickly back down at his hands. “I… I don’t know how much you recall of those days,” he said shyly. “We weren’t seeing much of each other then, were we? Because of… of a number of things.”

He rushed on, as if he didn’t want to give himself time to think about what he was saying. “But we had seen one another, oh, a day or so earlier.” 

The angel stopped abruptly and stared at Crowley, a flurry of emotions passing over his face, and an earnest question in his eyes.

Crowley fidgeted again and looked away, picking at an imaginary piece of fluff on his black sheets. How could he not recall that night? He thought about it far too often, and it was like drinking holy water every time. He wrestled a smirk onto his face and looked back at Aziraphale. 

“Yes,” he drawled, in a tone that he desperately hoped was casually reminiscent. “The church-caper-that-never-was. Still wish I’d been able to pull that one off, to tell you the truth. Might have been fun.”

At least, that was what Crowley _meant_ to say. When it came right down to it, the words got tangled up with the smirk, and what actually came out sounded more like “Yrgl-mpfh.”

“Anyway,” Aziraphale said, politely ignoring the demon’s verbal Gordian Knot, “it made me think. Days without you… well, they can be pleasant enough. I have my books and my magic tricks to keep me company, but… Well, what I mean to say is, my days are so much more pleasant _with_ you.” 

He paused, as if expecting Crowley to respond. Crowley, however, was experiencing far too many feelings at once. His mental activity could best be summarized by red strobe lights and a piercing siren wail, so he said nothing. 

“And when I didn’t hear from you in July,” Aziraphale continued finally, “I thought perhaps you were planning to sleep all the way through until everything is well and truly over.”

Crowley pulled himself together. “That was the general idea, yeah,” he croaked. 

“Well, there you are, you see,” Aziraphale said triumphantly. “There’s really no telling how long things might drag on for. So I thought to myself, ‘That simply won’t do. I’d better pop along and wake him up myself.’ And here I am.”

“Pop,” Crowley echoed weakly. “Right.”

“And then,” Aziraphale said, looking pleased with himself, “I thought of what I promised you that night. Of course, we’ve been to the Ritz often enough, but do you know, we’ve never gone for a picnic? Not once! And parks are open now, even if lots of other places are still restricted.

“I believe,” he added persuasively, “the ducks at St. James’s are getting quite complacent without you there to sink them every once in a while.”

A slow grin spread itself out across Crowley’s face. “Can’t have that, can we? The world’s in enough of a state, without adding complacent ducks into it.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, managing to nudge Aziraphale with his toe as he did so. “Right, come on, angel. Let’s get a wiggle on.”

Aziraphale stood up with a delighted shimmy. “You’ll come? Oh, I am so pleased. I’ve got a basket all ready for us. It’s waiting out in your plant room. I’ve packed lots and lots of cake.”

Crowley’s grin expanded, threatening to split his face in two. “Course you did, angel.”


End file.
